13 Bobby's Girl
by Thescarredman
Summary: Bobby and Sarah's long-standing love-hate relationship finally unravels.


March 26 2006  
Escondido

Sarah returned to the house shortly after ten, coming in the front door since she was on foot. Roxanne and Eddie were snuggled up on a couch in the conversation pit, steaming mugs on the table in front of them. Roxanne looked up as she came through the door.

Sarah searched her face for a resemblance. _I never did think she looked like Caitlin. But I really don't think she looks like me, either. I guess we both take after our mothers. _"Hi, guys. Where's Anna?"

Roxy frowned, ready to continue the fight. But before the little sister she and Caitlin now shared could say anything, Sarah glanced down at the mugs. "Never mind. Cocoa Night? What's the occasion? Did she say?"

Anna's Cocoa Nights were impromptu celebrations, something she did when she had something to feel especially good about. Sarah had never accepted a cup from her; her refusals had been polite, plausible, and transparent as glass to everyone.

With a puzzled look, Roxanne said, "She didn't say but it's got her floating, whatever it is."

"Hm. Suppose there's any left?"

The girl was speechless. Eddie looked up at her intently and said, "If there's not, she'll make more. I'll fly to the store if she needs milk or something. How you doing, Sarah?"

She smiled at him. _How many times have I thought of you as a stupid gorilla? Never again. _"Never better. Where's Bobby?"

"He hasn't been downstairs since you left. I heard him plinking on his guitar a little when I came downstairs."

She headed towards the kitchen. As she passed by the couch , she turned back, rested her chin on its back of between them, and said, "You know, you two make a cute couple. You should go out on a date sometime, to see if you like each other."

Just before she reached the kitchen, she heard Roxanne say to Eddie, "I have _no _idea."

In the kitchen, she found Anna stirring a large saucepan on the stove, with John Lynch, master of the house, sitting at the little round table behind her, empty mug in hand. Yesterday, she would have been disgusted at the sight of him waiting to be served by Anna in so trivial a capacity, and Anna willing to submit to such a role. Now she looked at the scene with fresh eyes. _He was on his own and kept his own house for years before he met her. It must have been hard to give up his own way of doing everything, just to make her happy. He loved her long before he took her to bed; that's what made that first night so special._

As Sarah came in, he stood and placed his mug on the counter next to the stove. "I'll be back later." He briefly placed a hand on Anna's rear end as he passed by, and _that_ looked different, too. He dropped the same hand on Sarah's shoulder as he went out, the first time he'd ever touched her.

"You're home early. How was the date?" Anna didn't turn from the stove.

Sarah came up behind and put her hands on her _shikasin's_ tiny waist, looking over her shoulder. "Wretched. I couldn't wait to get home. Cocoa?"

"Uh huh." The little blonde turned her head slightly. "Have some?"

"Love some. If you'll make it for me."

"Darling, just tell me how you like it." The contents of the pan were nothing but milk and dark unsweetened chocolate. Anna had a variety of ways to doctor the base stock to individual taste. "Jack takes it just like it is, bitter as black coffee. Caitlin's preference, I call Pop Tart: brown sugar, vanilla, raspberry liqueur. Eddie doesn't take it the same way twice; tonight it's instant coffee, cream, and sugar." In the reflection from the window, Sarah saw the little cyber make a face. "Roxanne's is traditional, icky sweet with marshmallows. No accounting for taste. Bobby-"

"Bobby's. Fix me one like his."

"Haven't told you what's in it yet."

"I'll know when you make it." With a final squeeze, she stepped back. "I'm feeling adventurous tonight."

"O-kay." Anna filled a mug, stirred in a tablespoon of sugar and a dash of cinnamon, then, surprisingly, dropped a pat of butter on top. "Don't stir that in; just let it sit on top. Careful, it's hot."

She tasted. The sugar was just enough to mellow the bitterness of the chocolate without blunting its flavor. The cinnamon gave the mixture depth; it seemed to carry the smells of the chocolate and butter to her nose as she sipped. The butter was a surprise that provided a contrast to the sweetness and added an unexpected richness to the drink; since it wasn't stirred in, sometimes it was there, and sometimes it wasn't.

"Well?"

"Better than I expected. More than the sum of its parts." She sipped again. "Nice contrasts. Surprisingly complex. Satisfying. I'm glad I decided to try it."

Anna's mouth twitched. "Are we still talking about cocoa?"

She took another sip. "I'm going up to Bobby's room, as soon as I finish this. Before I lose my nerve."

Swiftly, Anna pulled another mug from the cupboard, prepared a duplicate of her drink, and presented it to her. "Why wait?"

*four hours earlier*

After Sarah left for the Mission, Bobby spent a few minutes on his bed, unmoving, replaying the awful scene: the warmth of her body as she'd climbed over him, the way her hair had fallen forward in a curtain around their faces, enclosing him in a secret universe that contained only the two of them. Her eyes, as large as moons, vast dark pools a man could fall into and be lost forever. Her breath caressing his face. Her lips, inches from his. And finally, her words.

_Charity. She offered me a mercy fuck. I guess I don't have to wonder where I stand with her anymore; she couldn't have made it any clearer. _When he felt his wits were collected, though far from composed, he rose and went into the rest of the house, restless and searching. He sat in the loft and watched two TV programs with Eddie, never exchanging a word, and without a word of the dialogue registering. Finally, he got up and drifted down the hall. _Can't talk to him about it, not yet anyway. The guy's smart, and I trust him with my life, but he's got the sensitivity of a bowling pin._

Bobby was stuck for someone objective to talk to. Rox's present attitude towards Sarah was poisonous; despite how he felt right now, he wasn't ready to hear Rox harangue him about dumping her, only to have her reverse her opinion when the two girls were friends again. _But is that ever going to happen?_ Anna was out of the question this time; she'd probably forgiven Sarah already, and was all primed for the girl's next act of abuse.

Kat was somebody he could talk about anything with, almost, but he was uneasy discussing Sarah with her. Although it was clear their redheaded Amazon had come down on Anna's side in the recent fight, it hadn't changed her relationship with Sarah, such as it was. They were still as friendly as usual – that is to say, not particularly. The girls were cordial, but there had been an odd reserve between them since Kat had started to manifest, back at the Project. They sat side by side at the table, and Sarah always took shotgun when Kat drove. They talked about books and such, but they didn't do girlfriend stuff; they didn't shop and gossip and swap secrets the way Rox and Sarah did when they weren't on the outs. Their old intimacy was gone. Something had changed between them, and he couldn't trust Kat's opinion of her anymore.

He drifted towards the back stairs and the spare bedroom, thinking he might plug in and burn out his unease with some power chords. As he neared the room, he heard the rhythmic clank of someone using the gym equipment._ Kat. Maybe I should talk to her after all._ He looked through the doorway. His dad, dressed in an old pair of gym shorts and a cutoff sweatshirt, was lying on the bench doing presses. Bobby didn't work out, but he'd spotted Eddie and Kat enough to know proper form, and tell a good workout from a bad one. It looked like the old man knew what he was doing: he was taking the bar all the way from his chest to full extension, nice and slow without bouncing the bar at either end. And one-forty was a respectable weight for a guy crowding sixty. "Need a spotter?"

Grunting, the man dropped it into the stand. "Not unless I do another set." He sat up and reached for a towel; his shirt was soaked in front.

"You should do a second set, if you want the full effect."_ As if he wouldn't know that. What a crappy conversation starter. Why does being around this guy make me so uncomfortable?_

"That was the third. I think I'm done. Harder than it should have been; workouts have been few and far between lately." The older man mopped his face, and then gave him a knowing look. "Girl trouble?"

"Why do you say _that_?"

"You've got 'trouble' written all over you. What other kind have you got?"

_Amazing, how he can put me on the defensive with the simplest statement._ "How about the armed goons who want to put me in prison for life?"

"Worrying about that is _my_ job. Mine and your stepmother's." He set the towel aside and rested his hands on his knees. "Thank you for that, by the way."

"It wasn't a gesture, it's how she makes me feel. I would have done it before, but … there was something missing, I guess."

His father nodded. "Yeah. She's got it now. So, how is it with you and Sarah?"

Bobby leaned against the wall and looked at his shoes. Even after two years, it wasn't automatic, thinking of this tough old guy as his pop. And after moving through four foster families and various shelters, he wasn't sure what the Dad-Lad thing was supposed to be like anyway. "Not good. Never was, really. I'm trying to think of a reason not to throw it in."

"Besides the obvious ones?" The man almost cracked a smile. _Amazing. Anna's right: it is in the eyes._

"Obvious?"

"That she's exquisite, and she sleeps right across the hall."

He shook his head. "She could be in another _country_, and she wouldn't feel any farther away."

The older man leaned forward. "How much of that is your doing? Anna doesn't need a champion. She still thinks she can work things out with your girl. Don't wreck your relationship trying to change her for Anna's sake; she wouldn't approve."

_Here he goes again._ He said uncomfortably, "That was just the last straw. Things have been going nowhere for a long time."

"You're talking about sex, I presume."

_Could we even be having this conversation if he'd raised me? This is like talking to a counselor in juvie. Except I was sure those guys didn't have any answers. _"I must have rocks in my head for thinking it could ever happen. When I see her with another girl, it's _so_ obvious she's gay. But sometimes when we're alone, and we're sharing a joke or just doing something together … it's like she's _waiting_ for me to do the one thing that'll make it happen. But it doesn't last. Five minutes later, she's acting pissed at me for my presumption. I'm just getting sick of being her paddle ball."

His dad was daubing his face with the towel again. "I think I know what you're talking about." He put the towel down and looked at him. "Only from the other side, sort of. I fell in love with a girl, thinking that… sharing the intimacy of sex with her was physically impossible. That even pretending it was might break her heart or make her crazy. I couldn't help myself sometimes; I'd forget, and start treating her like a lover, and pull back, shocked at my selfishness. Then one night she came on to _me_, and it nearly tore me apart, trying to turn her down without making her think I didn't care." He smiled crookedly. "Turns out I was a victim of my own assumptions. Things worked out … very well." He laid the towel across his knees.

"Bobby, I have this friend. Great guy, solid, straight arrow like you. Even has your good looks. Girls in the office drop their numbers in his mail cubby. But the guy's disastrous taste in girlfriends is legendary. I've known him for fifteen years. In that time, he's had ten women under his roof. Half of them left his house in cuffs. Two of them sent him to the hospital. Another left him while he was out of town for the weekend, and took the entire contents of his house with her; then she torched the house. Those are the ones he has _fond_ memories of."

The man looked at him earnestly. "A man looking for a good woman could do _lots_ worse than Sarah Rainmaker. She's smart, and brave, and true. She's got a conscience, and I know she's capable of love: I've met her family. She has a strong moral code, if you discount her preference for … sexual playmates of her own gender. Which I do; I don't see it as a moral issue. She's judgmental, but she's not unthinking or rigid, not really. Anna's right. They'll work it out someday."

He listened, shocked. _I hardly see them talk; how did he get to know her so well? I thought I was the only one who saw her like that._

The older man went on, "If the need to get laid is all that stands between you, I'm sure you could go out the door right now and have a date by tonight. If she's not interested in sex with you, she might feel relieved. Could take the tension out of your relationship."

"Not interested." He shook his head. "I've had this conversation before. With _Kat_, of all people. It's got to be all or nothing."

The old man nodded. "You want something finer. Good for you. I counsel patience. Give her every chance you can before you give up. Even if it doesn't work out, you'll regret the wasted time less than you'd regret throwing away your chance."

He pushed himself off the wall. "Uh thanks, Dad. For the advice." He was a step from the door when the man called him.

"Bobby."

He turned. His father was looking down at the carpet between them. "I'm not kidding myself here. I know I missed my chance to raise you. You're a man now. You had some hard knocks, but you grew up fine without a father. And frankly, I don't know what kind of father I would have been. I've tried to imagine you as a kid. I can't do it. Any advice I have for you is … no different from what I'd give any other nineteen-year-old I found on his bunk in barracks, mooning over his girl."

He looked down at his father. "You talk to him the way you did to me, he'd wish you were his father. I wasn't being smart."

He stepped out the door and nearly ran into Kat, dressed in some of her eye-popping workout duds. She smiled. "Oops. Need a light at this intersection." The humor left her face. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Fine."

Her eyes searched his face. "Keep me company? I could use a spotter."

"Dad's in there already. Maybe I'll come by later."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Kay."

He went back to his bedroom, picked up his guitar, and sat up on the bed. He plucked idly at the instrument, trying to put together some chords while he put together some thoughts. Time passed. He heard faint clanking sounds from far down the hall, and the murmur of voices; the TV in the loft shut off, and Eddie clumped down the stairs. Eventually, the workout sounds ended and doors opened and closed. The whole floor grew quiet. He got the feeling he was waiting for something, but didn't know what. It was eerie.

"Bobby?" A girl's voice, low-pitched and dove-soft.

"'Mon in, Kat." He set his guitar against the wall, clearing a space beside him on the bed in case she wanted to sit down. Then he looked up to see Sarah's head and shoulder leaning into the doorway, her hair a black silk pennant hanging down below the knob. He felt an instant's pleasure at the sight of her, followed by a sharp stab of resentment from the memory of her last visit.

She took in the space he'd cleared with an unreadable expression. "Are you… expecting Caitlin?"

"No. But I _really_ wasn't expecting you."

"Can I come in?"

"Since when do you bother asking, Privacy Girl?"_ Stupid. Why pick a fight with her? Trying to beat her to the draw?_

She stiffened. _Here it comes. _"Guess I don't, do I? Always so sure of my welcome. May I?"

_What's she up to?_ "Suit yourself."

"Okay." Sarah stepped in with two mugs. "Cocoa?"

Bobby stared at the mugs. "_Anna's?_"

She nodded. "We talked. Fought, actually. I apologized. She forgave me. We're good."

"I'll be damned," he breathed. _Did he know, when we talked?_

She stood beside the bed, but didn't pass him a mug. She was still wearing the clothes and makeup she'd had on when she'd left; she looked like she was on her way to a party, the kind where everybody leaves with a new number to call. "I'd really rather not sit on the floor. Could you stand being that close to me, after what I did?"

And just like that, she had him back; he couldn't even be pissed at himself for it. "Yeah. Could."

Sarah passed him both mugs and got in beside him with her back to the headboard. She took her mug back, and they sat sipping together, a hand's width apart on the big bed. She took a bigger swallow. "I like this better the more I have. How did you come up with it?"

"Got it out of a book. It's the way the settlers used to drink it. Indians too." _Idiot. You know how she hates that word._

But she let it pass. Looking into her mug, she said, "I have a question. I've asked it before, but I don't think you took me seriously. Will you, if I ask again?"

He took too big a swallow and burned his tongue; hers must be cooler. "I'll try. Ask."

"Do you ever wish we got along better?"

He looked at her profile, half hidden by her hair, still staring down into her mug. "Every day, Sarah."

"Me too. Why should it be so hard?" She laid her free hand on his upper thigh. The feeling was electric; he almost dropped the cup. "You're a good friend, Bobby, the best. And the nicest guy I know. Nicest guy I've _ever_ known, actually. And when you … oh, damn." She swung her legs off the bed, clumsily because she was still hanging on to the mug. She set her cocoa on the floor and stood up. _There she goes; of _course_ it was too good to last._ He didn't bother to ask where she was going.

But she leaned over the bed and brought her head close; she seemed to be having trouble breathing. "I'm going to the bathroom for a bit. But I will be. Right. Back. Okay?"

"Okay," he said, feeling lightheaded. When she left, he sipped his cocoa; eventually he finished it and set the mug on the floor. He waited.

Sarah came to the doorway in a loose gray sweatshirt and pants that completely concealed her figure; he hadn't known she owned anything so unflattering. Her makeup was gone, and her hair was bound up in a long tail. She was utterly beautiful. "Got comfortable. I suppose I look like a dowdy squaw. You mind?"

"No." He added, "I'm just glad you came back."

She shut the door behind her and sat down beside him again. Instead of touching his leg, she twined her fingers in his. He noticed the sleeves of the sweatshirt reached to her knuckles; a glance at the sweatpants showed him the rolled cuffs. "These aren't your threads."

"Hardly. A loan from Caitlin. The first time she washed them, they shrank too much to wear again. This is the only sort of clothing I dare wear in here right now. It's nice being here with you, Bobby. But it's not easy. And I don't know how far it'll go. This is … a sort of virginity for me. Just being with a man I want to be with. You understand?"

"Not a bit, Sarah." He inhaled slowly, drinking in her scent and the feel of her fingers in his. "I don't think people are supposed to understand miracles. Just accept them." When she chuckled, he said, "What's funny?"

"Anna said something to me today, about direct intervention from a loving God."

"Really." _Do I dare put an arm around her? She seems so different. _Bobby let go of her hand and lifted his arm, intending to drop it on her shoulder, maybe even pull her closer if he felt like pressing his luck.

But as soon as her hand was free, she slid down a few inches and turned toward him and rested her head on his shoulder; his hand found her hip instead. "Easy," she said softly, as if to herself. "Just friends, all right? _Best_ friends."

Her hand was flat on his chest; he could feel his heart beating against her palm. A familiar gesture, but not hers. He shivered.

"Cold?"

"No," he breathed. "Just a funny chill."

Without looking at him, she said, "Want to get under the covers?"

11


End file.
